


Luxury Tent

by peachpety



Series: Autumn Drarry Drabbles [24]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Autumn Drarry Drabbles, Camping, Fall Foliage, Forests, Hiking, Innuendo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:55:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27185521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachpety/pseuds/peachpety
Summary: Harry and Draco go camping. There was only one tent.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Autumn Drarry Drabbles [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956262
Comments: 32
Kudos: 144





	Luxury Tent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [milkandhoney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkandhoney/gifts).



> Day 24 of Autumn Drarry Drabbles, y'all! This one is for the talented, wonderful, sweet milkandhoney! Your art and enthusiasm is so inspiring...i am so happy to claim you as a fandom friend! ALL THE LOVE ALWAYS! <3 The prompt requested is _actual, sleeping on the ground in a sleeping bag, camping._ I had fun with this one, Draco especially. BIG thanks to MostlyVoid for the late beta, BIG LOVE M'DEAR. Enjoy! xo peach

Draco’s gaze is fixed on Harry’s bum.

It’s a lovely bum, to be sure. And one that Draco had covertly peeked at often enough to know that it was perfectly plump and curved in all the right places. He had strategically placed himself behind Harry on this epic trek along a primitive path amidst the fall foliage in order that he may ogle said bum to his heart’s content without remonstration.

But now — a mile in and a mile yet to hike — even Harry’s magnificent bum is not inducement enough.

“You alright back there?” Harry asks over his shoulder. “You haven’t complained about anything for the last 20 minutes.”

Draco grunts in response and hoists his pack to settle into a _different_ uncomfortable position on his aching back. It is unfathomable that he, a purveyor of fine art, a connoisseur of designer clothing, an aesthete and bon vivant, ever thought that _hiking_ and _camping_ in the _wild_ was a good idea.

Ahead, Harry’s bum mocks him, innocently perfect in khaki. Draco sticks his tongue out at it.

Harry had broached the subject of camping at lunch a month ago, lamenting the fact that “the great outdoors” would not be the same now that he was split from his crunchy-granola boyfriend, Terry what’s-his-face. And good riddance to bad fashion. Honestly. The man wouldn’t know a Chelsea boot from a wing-tip brogue. 

All it took was one pouty lip, and Draco had agreed to an outdoor adventure, because _of course_ he knew what he was doing, he had backpacked through Europe for fuck’s sake. 

It had been a Prada backpack and suites in five-star hotels, but still.

Pansy had laughed herself into a coughing fit.

“We’re about halfway,” Harry announces, pausing and inhaling deeply, admiring the golden canopy above them. “Shall we stop for a rest?”

Draco trudges past him, deliberating placing one foot in front of the other. “I swear to all the gods and demons, Potter, if we stop I will never start walking again. We will have to pitch our luxury tent right here on this dismal path.”

Harry trots to catch up. “Yea, about the luxury tent—” 

Draco gives Harry a side-eyed glare. “What?”

“It made my pack too heavy,” Harry says. “I had to bring the smaller, lighter one, which I am now realizing is actually a one-man tent. It’ll be a… tight fit. For the two of us.” Harry stares intently at the leaves carpeting the path rolling out beneath their feet.

The pink blush staining Harry’s cheeks and spreading to his ears more than makes up for the two-mile hike and the absence of the fucking luxury tent.

* * *

The tent is indeed small.

So small, in fact, that when they roll out their sleeping bags — the ones Draco insisted that he be responsible for purchasing — inside the tiny tent, they overlap. They will practically be on top of each other.

Draco decides it’s the best fucking tent on the planet.

He’s so pleased that he agrees to help Harry collect firewood. They traipse about the forest, Draco finding all the aesthetically pleasing sticks, the ones with symmetrical branches and smooth bark, placing them neatly into Harry’s waiting arms. 

Draco arranges the sticks, and Harry sighs heavily.

“What?” Draco frowns, planting his hands on his hips.

“You do realize that we are going to burn this wood,” Harry says. “The ugly sticks burn just as bright.”

Draco scoffs. “I don’t want an ugly fire.” A rustling in the nearby underbrush causes Draco to start in alarm and shift closer to Harry. “What was that? Are there bears in this forest?”

“It’s probably just a hyena,” Harry says, nonchalantly. 

Draco clutches Harry’s bicep. _“A hyena?”_ The rustling grows louder and Draco squawks and climbs Harry like a tree. Harry drops the sticks and there’s a lot of scuffling and a bit more squawking. Draco stills, listening intently.

“Is it gone?” Draco’s leg dangles over Harry’s shoulder. He tightens his arms wrapped around Harry’s face.

“Er,” Harry mumbles against Draco’s forearm.

Draco suddenly realizes the placement of Harry’s hand, warm and heavy on his arse. The adrenaline pumping through his veins heads south, converging at his groin. Harry’s hand remains firmly in place, guiding him as he slides slowly down Harry’s body to stand in his arms face-to-face, chest-to-chest, hip-to-hip.

Draco stares into green eyes, and his heart flutters in his chest like an amber leaf clinging to a branch, not yet relinquishing its hold to the fall breeze. Draco’s gaze falls to Harry’s lips, and Harry’s breath quickens.

“Draco,” he says quietly. “I think—“

Draco’s breath stutters. “Yes?” 

Nearby — _extremely_ nearby — twigs crack and leaves rustle loudly, drawing their attention. 

“I think,” Harry says urgently, “we better head back to camp.”

* * *

Harry fusses about the camp, avoiding Draco’s eye. He sets up the rocks around the fire pit, and starts a blazing fire. Draco opens the cans for dinner because _he’s not entirely useless, Potter._

They eat in amicable silence, one catching the other with darting glances. 

After dinner, Harry makes a big show of putting out the fire. Draco faffs about with his truncated bedtime rituals, balking at the shovel and biodegradable toilet paper because _he has to dig his own bloody latrine?_

Finally, after slapping bugs off his arms and walking through a spider web, Draco announces, loudly, to Harry and the hyenas, “I’m going to bed!”

“Ok,” Harry says. He scrubs the back of his head and rearranges the fire pit rocks for the fifteenth time. “I’ll just finish up here!”

Draco climbs into the tent and settles into his sleeping bag, shivering into the cold slickness. The ground is hard beneath his back and he wriggles and shifts, trying to get comfortable and trying _not_ to think about Harry joining him. 

He doesn’t think about those green eyes igniting with something hopeful and exciting. 

He doesn’t think about that manly hand on his arse.

Draco wiggles a bit more, this time in pleasure, letting his hand drift down to adjust himself, to graze, to stroke, to fondle. He bites his lip to stifle a moan and the tent flap opens. Harry pokes his head in, and Draco freezes, hand on his crotch.

“Er, hi,” Harry says, pink blush blooming. “I’m just going to…” He points to his sleeping bag and crawls in, filling the space with his bulk. Elbows and knees, and that damn perfect bum, graze Draco repeatedly, not helping his current aroused state in the least, as Harry maneuvers and slips into his sleeping bag.

Harry turns to face Draco, staring at him in the dim light of the lantern. Draco stares back. He inhales and pauses; the air stills.

“What?” he whispers.

“These sleeping bags are nice,” Harry whispers back.

Draco sniffs. “Yes, well, this tent is _not_ luxury.”

Harry grins, reaching out to pluck a twig from Draco’s hair. He hesitates, grin fading. His thumb presses delicately into the swell of Draco’s bottom lip. A pulse of heat explodes in Draco’s core, welling up to flood his veins. He rubs his lips against Harry’s thumb, caressing, parting, nibbling gently.

A small, sweet sound escapes the back of Harry’s throat and he slides forward, pressing against the full length of Draco’s body, guiding Draco to him with a tug on his chin. He smells like campfire smoke blotting out the stars, like earthy evergreens opening up to a pale autumn sky.

He pauses, his breath a gossamer touch on Draco’s lips. “You’ve been driving me mad all day,” he says softly. 

“Likewise,” Draco says, nuzzling Harry’s nose.

Harry smiles sheepishly. “Yeah, I can feel you against me.”

Draco rolls his eyes and reaches between them, extracting a stick from the sleeping bag. “It’s a branch, you dolt.”

Harry laughs, big and wide, and Draco decides right then that he’s going to make Harry laugh like that now, always, forever. “Is it aesthetically pleasing?” He sobers. “I’m only interested in an aesthetically pleasing stick, Draco.” 

“Oh my god,” Draco wields the stick. “It’s the best fucking stick in this whole hyena-infested forest and I’m going to poke you with it!”

Harry’s eyes sparkle. “You promise?”

Draco raises up and slides himself, sleeping bag and all, on top of Harry. “Yeah, I promise.” He grinds his erection into Harry.

“Ah,” Harry grins, “there you are.”

“You know,” Draco says, peppering kisses along Harry’s jaw. “I bought these sleeping bags because they zip up together.”

“You know,” Harry responds, sliding his hand into Draco’s hair and guiding Draco’s lips to his. 

“I brought this one-man tent on purpose.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me indulgently lurking on [tumblr](http://peachpety.tumblr.com/).


End file.
